


innocence died screaming

by cress_ent



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dream SMP War, Engagement, God Complex, M/M, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), and a god complex can be more powerful than a relationship, and fundy is frighteningly mortal, dream is the closest thing they have to a god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cress_ent/pseuds/cress_ent
Summary: “You know, it’s a shame you turned traitor again,” Dream says, and his voice is still so effortlessly casual, so careless, so teasing, “we could have been fighting together, for once.”“You know I couldn’t keep standing behind that tyrant,” Fundy says, and he hates himself a little for how his voice shakes, how the mask slips, how Dream is reading him like an open book and how Fundy cannot do the same. Hasn’t been able to for a while — Dream’s changed. “You could have kept fighting for us! Youwerefighting for us! How do we keep—”Fundy can’t bring himself to finish. Can’t set in words, set in stone, what he’s been terrified to face in the days leading up to the war.How do we keep ending up on opposite sides of the battlefield? How many wars can our relationship withstand?ORin which fundy realizes that a relationship between a man and a god will have its limits. takes place before the final war against manberg.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Floris | Fundy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 123





	innocence died screaming

**Author's Note:**

> "idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on it's sword  
> innocence died screaming, honey ask me i should know  
> i slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door"
> 
> // lyrics and title from 'from eden' by hozier
> 
> // obligatory "this is about the characters they play in the dream smp lore and not the actual people" disclaimer
> 
> // [dream voice] According to AO3 Statistics, only a small percentage of my readers actually leave kudos and comments. So if you end up liking this fic, please consider leaving a kudos or comment - it's free, and you can always remove it later if you change your mind. Enjoy the fic.

“Dream, we need to talk.”

Fundy knows that he’s supposed to be back at the ravine base, supposed to be with the rest of their team as they prepare for the war ahead. Instead, he’s staring down Dream — he can’t see anything behind Dream’s carved porcelain mask, no clue to what he’s thinking or feeling. There’s freckles and vibrant green eyes and a smile and a laugh that fills the room with light hiding behind that mask, Fundy knows, he’s seen it firsthand — but any hint of what was and what could still be is hidden from him. “Can we— go somewhere? Private?” Fundy asks, and he hates how hard it is to get a read on Dream when he can’t see any hint of him on the surface. 

“You aren’t busy preparing for the war?” Dream asks, and if Fundy didn’t know him better he’d be insulted by how casually Dream says it — like he doesn’t care either way if Fundy’s preparing, like he knows he’ll come out on top anyways. 

“I could ask the same of you,” Fundy says. There’s a tense moment where they’re staring each other down, tensions bristling, alignments clear — but the moment passes like a wave crashing against the shore, and Dream turns, motioning for Fundy to follow him. 

Dream leads him to the castle — was it just yesterday? When Fundy filled its wide hallways and expansive ballrooms and twisting corridors with flamingos, a lighthearted prank on a friend he was trying to get back? — and into the far back stairwell, treading a familiar path upwards into one of the castle’s many towers. He slides into a well-worn chair, and Fundy falls into the one opposite him, a table between them. (There was a cake here once, for Fundy’s birthday — it was lopsided and tasted too sweetly of sugar and Dream had frosting on his cheek and in his hair and a part of Fundy wishes they could go back, back to an easier time, but he knows as well as anyone that there’s no turning back this clock.)

“You’re fighting against me,” Fundy says, because the clock is ticking down and they haven’t got time to waste and this is what he came here for in the first place, “you’re fighting against _Pogtopia,_ against _L’Manberg_ , even after you allied with them in the past?” 

“It’s like I told Tommy,” Dream replies, “I’m on the side of chaos. I’m on my own side, Fundy, do you really think I care about this— this little war? Who wins and who loses and who gets what nation back?” The netherite axe strapped to his back glints in the light of the setting sun. Fundy forgets, sometimes, that the same man that confessed his fears of being trapped, of being helpless, is easily the most powerful person he knows. “At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who wins — just that I help create enough chaos for my king to be able to take back what used to be, and rightfully _is_ ours.”

He tilts his head slowly to one side, regarding Fundy in the golden light of the quick-setting sun, and Fundy wishes desperately he could see whatever emotions are written across Dream’s face. Wishes he could recognize something, _anything_ , in the shadows behind the carved porcelain mask. “You know, it’s a shame you turned traitor again,” Dream says, and his voice is still so effortlessly casual, so careless, so teasing, “we could have been fighting together, for once.” 

“You know I couldn’t keep standing behind that tyrant,” Fundy says, and he hates himself a little for how his voice shakes, how the mask slips, how Dream is reading him like an open book and how Fundy cannot do the same. Hasn’t been able to for a while — Dream’s changed. “You could have kept fighting for us! You _were_ fighting for us! How do we keep—” 

Fundy can’t bring himself to finish. Can’t set in words, set in stone, what he’s been terrified to face in the days leading up to the war. _How do we keep ending up on opposite sides of the battlefield? How many wars can our relationship withstand?_

He goes silent, shaking quietly with anger that bubbles up beneath the surface of his skin. At Schlatt; at Wilbur; at Dream; at whatever forces keep the earth turning every night and every day. At himself. 

“Fundy, do you know what the best trait a leader should have is?” Dream asks. Fundy can’t stop the confusion that floods his face — the question seems out of nowhere, when Fundy’s never been close to a leadership position and Dream seemed to step down from his long ago. Dream chuckles, and Fundy holds on tight to the memory of a quirked eyebrow and bright green eyes, the gap between the warmth of his memories and the cold, unforgiving mask that stares him down larger than he wants to even try to bridge. “Well, do you?”

A thousand words crowd on the tip of Fundy’s tongue, but he bites them all down. No matter what answer Fundy gives, he knows it’ll be wrong. Dream’s mind was always wondrous to him, how it worked sharper and quicker and different from everyone else, but the unpredictable nature that set him apart from the others also frustrated Fundy to no end. Frustrates him even now. Causes him to hold his tongue. “No.”

Dream leans forward in his chair, the setting sun behind him casting long shadows across his face, gripping the edges of the small table between them with a ferocity that sends a sharp spike of fear through Fundy’s heart. “The best— and only— trait a leader ever needs,” he says, voice quiet and chilling and even with each word weighing so much, dropping like stones to the floor, still so carefree, “is the ability to manipulate. To move everyone around like pawns on a chessboard. I’ve almost gotten a perfect checkmate, wouldn’t you say?”

Cold, thick dread snakes up Fundy’s back, sliding into his mouth and stealing every word from the back of his throat. “To— to manipulate? Pawns?”

He lets out a laugh, and it feels so cold and bitter and twisted from the warm laughter Fundy knows. Knew. “Eret hasn’t told you yet, huh — they aren’t king anymore, Fundy. And all it took were a few choice words.” 

Fundy’s blood runs cold. 

Eret, no longer king. Dream wouldn’t hold a crown — he doesn’t care for them — which would put George on the throne next — and oh god, what does that mean for Pogtopia, for L’Manberg when they get it back — will Eret be siding with Pogtopia? Is that why Dream took the throne from them? How— and _why_ —

“Dream, please—” Fundy starts, but Dream continues. 

“And Wilbur… well, I can’t say too much, but he was all too eager to work with me when I provided him with the gunpowder for those explosives he’s oh-so-fond of.” Fundy doesn’t even want to consider what expression is hiding behind that mask. He knows, whatever it is, it’ll fill his veins with horror and fear. (He shouldn’t be this scared of his own fiance.) “It isn’t too late to switch sides, Fundy.”

“It isn’t too— Dream, do you hear yourself right now? What _happened_ to you?” There’s a sharp screech as Fundy shoots out of his chair, pushing it backwards with enough force that it falls and clatters against the stone floor. All that stands between them is a small wooden table — yet Fundy feels miles away, like he could traverse the entire world and still not be a single block closer to Dream. 

“Nothing _happened_ , Fundy,” Dream says, and he’s still so carefree with every word that leaves his lips, and Fundy wants to reach across the table and grab him by the collar and shake him. “Come on now — you know me. You know that I’ve always been like this.”

Fundy can’t stop his eyes from filling with tears, his voice raw with anger and frustration and some sick sort of grief. “No, _no —_ this isn’t the man I knew! This isn’t the man I fell in love with!” Fundy isn’t sure of many things, what with the war and the future of the nation he was born into hanging precariously from a string, what with betrayals happening quicker than Fundy knows how to process, what with everyone always having some hidden card up their sleeve — but he’s sure that Dream’s changed, and he doesn’t think he can say it’s been for the better.

Dream goes silent, still. Fundy wishes he could rip that mask off Dream’s stupid face, that he could at least try and search for any glimpse of the man he knew. His left hand clenches into a fist, and Fundy can’t help but notice the glinting gemstones set against a shining gold band encircling Dream’s ring finger. The dinner… the date… the movie… the proposal… When did it all start going downhill? When did Dream move away from the sweet, caring man that reacted with pure joy at the sight of Fundy on one knee, holding a ring, and towards this— this power-hungry mastermind? This— _villain_? 

The last inches of golden sunlight disappear as the sun finally falls below the horizon, the room overcast with cool blue shadow. Dream stands, taking his ring off — Fundy’s still so proud of it, the brilliant diamond in the middle offset with a small circle of emeralds, “ _as green as you eyes, babe,”_ the gold band resilient and reinforced enough to withstand whatever battles Dream might find himself in, all the resources gathered himself and picked with care. His uncaring, unchanging mask stares Fundy right in the eyes as he drops the ring to the floor, lifting a foot and crushing it beneath his sole. 

“Yeah. I guess it isn’t.”

A choked sob escapes Fundy before he can stop himself, the sharp _crunch_ of the precious gemstones he spent hours finding echoing in his ears as he gazes in horror at the floor, at the shards of diamond and emerald scattered around the now-bent ring of gold. He takes a shaky breath in. “You—” Tears spill over from where he’d been holding them back, cascading down his face in harmony with his sobs. “I—”

Dream stands over the ring. Meets Fundy’s eyes. If he’s showing any remorse, Fundy wouldn’t be able to tell. 

Fundy prides himself on being quick. On his mischievous pranks and witty retorts. But for the first time in a long while, he reaches for words and comes out empty-handed. He pushes past Dream, footsteps echoing in the tall stairwell as Fundy runs out of the tower, tears streaming down his face and the only noises leaving him these choked little sobs. 

Dream takes off his mask. Rubs his eyes tiredly. There’s a mirror on the opposite wall of this little stone tower, and when he looks into the reflective surface he’s not quite sure who stares back at him. (Green eyes. Freckles. Hair that shines like gold in sunshine but becomes dark in shadow. Bloodshot, tired eyes rimmed with red. Dark circles, shadow to the fire of his burning eyes. Tears, welling up in the corners.) 

He drops to his knees, listening carefully to ensure there isn’t a soul nearby before allowing himself to release the ugly sob that had been building up in his chest. Fingers, battle-worn and calloused and scarred, scrabble against cold stone brick as he cradles the remnants of his engagement ring in his hand. Four of the small emeralds have been broken completely off, the diamond in the centre — Dream would spend hours admiring how it sparkled and shone in the sun, it annoyed Sapnap and George to no end — less shining, a crack snaking down the centre of the gemstone. The golden band that used to weigh so safely and familiarly on his finger is twisted to the point where Dream isn’t even sure if he can fix it. 

Tears mix with the shimmering dust of the shattered gemstones, creating a mosaic of light that dances through Dream’s vision, blurred by tears and grief. His heart feels like it’s going to burst, going to shatter right out of his chest and mix with the remains of the ring, of the last physical piece of goodness Dream owned. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t say he still cares — he _did_ lie to Fundy, saying that there’s nothing left of the man Fundy knew, the man that first took this ring in trembling hands (from nerves, from joy, from something that tastes like excitement and hope) and slipped it onto an equally trembling finger. Parts of him are left behind, parts of him still remain — shattered and shaking and nothing any bigger than the shimmering shards that surround him. 

Dream feels hollow. 

He’s got a purpose, a plan — he knows exactly what he’s doing, the movement of the chess pieces on the board only he can see, but even with everything going exactly as he wanted it to, as he knew it would, he feels empty. Like a cavern has opened up inside his chest that’s slowly eating him up from the inside out. 

If Dream was given the chance to turn back the past ten minutes, with the memories he has now, he isn’t sure he’d have said what he did. Taken the same actions. 

The thought scares him more than he’d care to admit. 

He stands, slowly, carefully, (his hands still shake and his finger feels empty without the familiar weight of the ring and his legs feel unsteady even though he’s always been so sure of his every move), picking his mask up from where he left it atop the table. With a soft sigh that barely breaks the stillness of the quickly cooling evening air, Dream dons the familiar mask. The simple act seems to hold more significance than Dream knows what to do with. 

With one last lingering glance, eyes filled with tears and regret and grief hidden behind the shadows of a porcelain mask, Dream exits the tower. 

**Author's Note:**

> somewhat the antithesis to "if i could take it all back", a universe where the god complex dream has is too powerful to be tempered by the human affection fundy has for him. doesn't mean he doesn't care. just his priorities are a little different.
> 
> shoutout to mo once again for spiralling about these two with me !! also for coming up with calroy dream and donetta fundy which is what inspired Most of this fic to be honest. that means nothing to no one that isnt both part of d20 and mcyt fan communities but oh well!


End file.
